


Butterbeer And Broomsticks

by youaresunlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bottom Castiel, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Professor Castiel, Professor Dean, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Flying Instructor extraordinaire at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has fallen head over heels for Castiel Novak, the criminally gorgeous Herbology professor. It’s definitely the most hideous man crush to <em>ever</em> grace the hallowed castle, and for Merlin's sake Dean hopes that he'll be able to bloody do something about it one of these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a [drabble](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/101708335245) on my Tumblr and couldn't get the idea out of my head. Thanks to my friend archangelgaybriel for giving this a look in the beginning. :)

“You’re staring again.”

Dean jerks his head back in alarm, eyes shifting to his breakfast then Charlie, who looks infuriatingly amused. He groans and rubs a hand over his face, feels Charlie’s sympathetic pats on his shoulder, but they don’t help much considering it’s eight am on Monday and his mood has already gone to the dogs.

“Honestly, you should say something,” Charlie suggests softly, mindful of their colleagues’ ears ensconcing them at the table. Her eyes have gone all huge and sad, as she knows better than anyone how frustrated Dean has been, and don’t get him wrong, Dean _wants_ to move things along, it’s just. Well, it’s a question of Dean ceasing to be atrociously pathetic, and so far the prospects of that appear rather bleak – like, angry storm cloud bleak.

“I should go, um, check the equipment for the match.”

Dean averts Charlie’s gaze as he stands, and she doesn’t comment on the fact that there will be no match until Saturday. He nods politely at the professor on his other side and moves away toward the massive arched doors, and is halfway past the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables when something catches his robe at the elbow. 

He turns, wondering if it’s a student, and freezes completely at the realization that it’s not. He can already feel the heat on his face by the time Cas retracts his arm, and his mind is so loud from the thumps of his own heartbeat that the subsequent greeting barely cuts through.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean swallows hard, like he always does upon hearing Castiel’s voice. It actually sounds deeper than normal today, rough and sort of tired, and Dean notices the dark circles beneath those beautiful eyes, still so blue and brilliant but laden with the effects of losing sleep.

“Hey, Cas,” he replies. “How was your weekend?” 

“I didn’t have much of one, I’m afraid,” Cas sighs with a resigned little wave. “I was holed up in the greenhouses all of yesterday, had my arms buried deep in dirt.”

“Mandrake season, huh?”

“Yes,” Cas says, mouth parting in surprise. “How did you know?”

 _Shit_. “Uh...” _I ask about you. I read Herbology books just in case_. “A student might’ve mentioned it. Kevin- Kevin Tran? Said the lesson was coming up so he had to find his earmuffs.”

“Right, Mr. Tran,” Cas nods. “He was a great student, a natural with handling mandrakes.”

 _Was?_ _Oh._ Dean only then recalls that Kevin is a third year, not a second. _Christ_.

“Yes, well...” he finishes lamely, hoping that a shrug might disguise the swell of panic rushing through his brain. But Cas is smiling, not unkindly – because Cas is the nicest wizard Dean has ever met – and for a second Dean thinks he sees a faint blush dusting the guy’s cheekbones. Blushing. Sure. Better add hallucination to his list of affection-related maladies.

“Were you headed to the training grounds?” Cas asks after a moment.

Dean relaxes a bit at the change in topic; flying is a subject he’s far more comfortable discussing. “Yeah, the weather’s perfect for the first years to get some extra practice. They’re probably itching to give it a go, you know, since the last few lessons have all been theory.”

“Any potential recruits for the house teams?”

They’re walking together now, shoulders brushing slightly. If Dean weren’t so focused on answering the question, he’d be way too occupied with the pleasant, citrusy scent lingering on Cas’ skin.

“There’s a Hufflepuff named Alfie Honeysett,” Dean tells Castiel, both of them leaving the Great Hall and turning into the left corridor. “He’s got the instincts to make a solid Keeper.”

“I’m certain he’ll become one under your tutelage. I’ve heard our Quidditch has improved by leaps and bounds ever since you assumed your post.”

“Sounds like someone’s been feeding you lies,” Dean laughs, never having grown accustomed to accepting praise. That the words are coming from Castiel doesn’t make them any easier to digest. In fact, Dean’s ears have resumed their cacophonous ringing, punctuated by his rapidly increasing pulse and the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

“You could afford to be less modest, Dean,” Cas says with another smile, his tone so fond and genuine that Dean momentarily forgets where they are. When he remembers, his face feels hot, and he also registers that they’ve stopped moving. He tears his eyes away from Cas to their right and sees the sign for Herbology mounted on the brick wall. 

“So I guess I’ll... see you, Cas,” he murmurs quietly, managing to look back at him. He sees Cas’ face fall minutely, merely a flash of something akin to disappointment, but a smile returns too quickly for Dean to decipher anything and he chalks the expression up to his imagination once more.

“Yes, Dean. Have a lovely day.”

Cas nods shyly and reaches for the door, disappearing into his classroom in a blur of black and blue. Dean watches, and watches, before shaking his head and continuing down the hallway, and somewhere along his path he runs into Charlie again, has to deal with her sighs and an exasperated nudge into his side.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The rest of the week passes with little incident, mainly a repeated pattern of Dean chatting with Cas at breakfast; Dean embarrassing himself in some verbal way; and Cas taking all of this in kind, beatific stride. Each day also has Dean falling harder for the professor, shoving him beyond physical attraction and into the feelings territory – which apparently makes him insufferable because it’s Charlie who’s groaning miserably the following Saturday morning.

“Dean, for the love of Merlin,” she hisses, stabbing at her Toad in the Hole. “I am choking on your unresolved tension over here. Just ask him out already. _Please_.”

“Have you not seen the guy?” Dean shoots back, equally cross. “He’s smart and, and gorgeous and- You know, I believe that’s what Muggles call ‘being out of your league.’”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “And did you happen to lose your mirror, Dean? Or suffered a mild case of amnesia? Forget about the boys and girls who receive detention on purpose to ogle at your face?”

Dean huffs with full-force indignation. “That’s different. They’re just horny.”

“Oh, and what are you exactly?”

“I’m-” Dean flushes red again, glaring daggers at his blameless eggs. He senses Charlie’s patience as she waits for him to look at her, and he relents once he’s positive that numerous holes have burned their way into his food. 

“I know,” she says gently. “I know this is about more than that, and despite the flirtatious façade you kept up in school, you know you’re a huge romantic at heart.” 

“I’m...” Dean’s hand curls around his goblet of pumpkin juice, his stubbornness refusing to grant Charlie the satisfaction of being right. She is, though, of course; after all, they’ve been best friends since they were eleven.

“I wouldn’t push if I didn’t believe the feelings are mutual,” Charlie states with some finality, and Dean gives one last, pained sigh before rising up like a martyr from his seat.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Dean leaves the Great Hall and heads straight for the Quidditch pitch, stopping by the locker rooms to switch into his referee’s robes. He’s soon swept up in the adrenaline that accompanies every game, which offers him temporary relief from all his anxieties surrounding Cas.

The match today is between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and Dean jots down a mental note to pay particular attention to dirty plays. The post-war years have amended Slytherin’s reputation somewhat, though that doesn’t mean the House has lost its Machiavellian streak completely.

“I want a clean game,” Dean announces an hour later, clutching his whistle as he peers at the fourteen players hovering above him. The stands and towers are filled, the spectators’ cheers nearly deafening, but Dean’s the one with the megaphone here and both teams know he’ll be watching them like a hawk. 

He hears the Chasers start to zip through the air as soon as he tosses the Quaffle, and within twenty minutes Ravenclaw is ahead by an inch, ten points that throw the green and silver crowds in a tizzy. He comes close to blowing his whistle when the Slytherin Seeker narrowly misses an injury, but the match proceeds tamely otherwise and Dean is proud of the students for their sportsmanship. The Slytherin team catches up and leaves the Ravenclaws in the dust for some time, scoring and blocking goals with impressive coordination. To their dismay, however, the Ravenclaw Seeker gets a hold of the Snitch first, and with that the game ends, one-seventy to fifty.

Dean stays on his broom for a bit, flying in figure eights around the goal posts to give the pitch a cursory onceover. He happens to slow next to the Hufflepuff tower where the staff are gathering themselves to head down, and he spots Castiel in the very front row, leaning forward against the wooden ledge. He waves at Dean and Dean’s breath hitches in his throat, at the dark, windswept hair and soft-looking cheeks pink from the chill. Dean wants nothing more than to cradle that face in his hands, and thanks to a single surge of courage, waves back and flies closer till he’s only a feet away. 

“That was a great match,” Cas smiles warmly, “and not one instance of foul play. They must be terrified of their coach.”

“Oh yeah, he’s wretched,” Dean laughs. “It’s either cheat or do laps until you cry... or something.”

Cas goes along with the joke, murmurs “Wow” as he widens his eyes. There’s no reason for mock disbelief to be so cute but there he is, charming blue lit up in twinkling amusement. 

“Aren’t you cold, by the way?” Castiel asks, which makes Dean realize that, yeah, he might be, just a little. He only has his robes and a pair of gloves to keep him warm, and they don’t provide much insulation at this altitude, not when the sun’s barely peeking out from behind the clouds.

“Um.”

Castiel blinks up at him, forehead delicately creased with concern, and Dean suddenly feels like his chest is too tight because Cas is... worried about him. He’s even more surprised when Cas pulls him closer by his Nimbus, until the toes of Dean’s boots are practically scraping against the drapes. Cas then reach for his own scarf, canary yellow with thin black stripes, and it’s a testament to Dean’s reflexes that he doesn’t topple at the wool coming to encircle his neck.

Cas’ warmth carries over onto his skin, though it’s the kind gesture that heats Dean up more than anything. He watches Cas tie a knot and step back looking pleased, and his immediate impulse is to return the scarf so _Cas_ won’t freeze; bloody hell, how much of a goner is he?

“But you’re-”

“I’ll be heading in soon,” Cas assures him. “Just... give it back to me at breakfast sometime.”

“I appreciate it, Cas,” Dean smiles. “Thanks.”

Cas nods and turns around, falling in line with the other professors and slipping out the door behind the seats. When he’s gone, Dean is still running the scarf’s fringes through his fingers, and he flips over the end to find _C.J. Novak_ embroidered in loopy text with black thread.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“So,” Sam says dramatically in the Three Broomsticks later that day, “you’ve been mooning over this guy for nearly a _year_ , and you’ve _yet_ to ask him out on a date? Dean, what _happened_ to you?”

Dean shoves his brother hard, partly from annoyance, and partly because Sam is taking up an ungodly amount of space in their tiny booth. He then sees Jess’ and Charlie’s teasing smiles across the table, leaving him surrounded on all sides with no choice but to sulk into his Butterbeer – at least Butterbeer has got his back.

“Castiel is different, Sam,” Charlie explains on Dean’s behalf. “I’ve never seen your brother so terribly hung up on anyone like this.” 

“I think it’s adorable,” Jess chimes in, blonde curls bouncing perkily around her shoulders. “You _should_ do something about it, though, because if the way Sam behaved is any indication, you’re probably being really obvious anyhow.” 

Dean tries to look affronted but Charlie cuts him off with a “You are, sweetheart.”

“Well, you’re the worst,” he groans, dropping his head in his hands, “the whole lot of you.”

“You love us,” Sam laughs as he slaps Dean’s back with his huge paw. Honestly, Dean is one jostle away from investigating the Winchester family tree for giant genes. 

He sighs when Sam puts down the galleons for their tab and steers him out of the pub, the cooler air a rather nice respite from the body heat and smoky interior. They linger by the entrance for a moment, planning where to go next, and in a blink Dean is left to wait with Jess while Sam and Charlie head to Tomes and Scrolls for a fast purchase. 

Dean doesn’t mind, of course. Jess is sweet and pleasant company, and has known him for almost three years ever since she started dating Sam. Dean remembers reading Sam’s first letter, owled to him from London, three pages of gushing over this girl he’d met on his Muggle Relations externship. Sam had called her smart and so beautiful and a Muggle ‘but that doesn’t matter, does it, Dean?’ He’d sounded worried, which was absurd because Dean just wants his brother to be happy, so he’d written back quickly and simply said, ‘Sammy, you dog. I doubt your supervisor meant that kind of Muggle relations.’

“I’m sorry if you were bothered by our antics, Dean.” 

Jess’ voice shakes Dean from his thoughts and he meets her eyes with a soft smile. “Oh, you’re fine. It’s those two hooligans that should be fitted with a pair of muzzles.”

“We just hate seeing you so down is all,” she placates. “Have you thought about how you might ask your friend out?” 

He has. Thousands of times. “More or less,” he says weakly. 

Jess smiles at him. “Maybe you won’t be as nervous if you practiced.” 

“I don’t know,” Dean rubs the back of his neck, which prompts Jess to click her tongue. 

“Would you rather it be Sam or Charlie?” she quips. “Or an owl?” 

“Well, if you put it like that...” Dean grumbles at her satisfied expression. He should’ve known better than to argue with a solicitor. “Alright, here goes,” he clears his throat, squares his shoulders. “I... would like to take you to coffee next Saturday if you... if you’re free.” 

“Like a date?” Jess throws back at him, tilting her head in what must be an exaggerated imitation of Cas. She even lowers her voice a little and puts a frown between her brows and Dean thinks to himself, wow, he _has_ mentioned Cas a lot, hasn’t he. 

“Yeah. Yes,” Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Who knows, I might even bring you flowers.” 

“Aw, and I wonder where you’d get them from. The Herbology greenhouses, perhaps?” 

Dean does give her a bona fide eye roll this time, lets her laugh at him as he shakes his head. He’s got to admit that any kick to his sorry arse is probably _beyond_ well-deserved at this point. 

“Dean?” 

Jess’ eyes widen first, as does Dean’s upon hearing the familiar voice. He turns to find Cas standing close – how could he not have noticed him? – and for a second the mood is awkward though Dean has no real idea why that might be. 

“Cas!” he smiles, breaking the silence. “Running errands?” 

“Yes, I was just...” Cas gestures vaguely to his right. “I’m headed to Dogweed and Deathcap.” His voice quiets near the end and there’s something off about the way he avoids Dean’s gaze. The tip of his nose is slightly reddened from the cold and Dean could hit himself for leaving the scarf back at school. Damn, he should’ve brought it just in case. 

“Right, um,” he says in lieu of an apology. “Uh, god, I’m being rude, aren’t I. Jess, this is my friend Cas, Herbology professor at Hogwarts. And Cas, this is Jess, my-” 

“There you are!” 

Dean bristles at the interruption but the irritation fades when he sees that it’s Charles, the cheery Divination professor. Shurley smiles at Dean then Jess and asks Cas if he’s ready for the plant shop, sighs that he definitely needs to go buy some tea leaves since without them he’d be bereft of crucial lesson supplies on Monday. 

“Of course,” Cas replies. “Dean. Jessica.”

His blue eyes are solemn and Dean has no chance for a goodbye before he turns away swiftly with Charles in tow. 

“Is it just me or did he seem...” 

Dean nods helplessly, feels Jess’ eyes on him as he stares at Cas’ retreating back. Charles is talking with animated hand gestures, a contrast to the stiffness evident in his colleague’s frame, and Dean cannot help but wonder what could have possibly happened in the past few hours.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

By Monday, Dean’s gathered enough courage to put his plan into action, thanks to Sam pestering him to “grow a pair,” effectively motivating him via wounding his pride. Charlie, meanwhile, offers to do the reconnaissance work, and Dean, following her tip-off, heads to the greenhouses right after second period. 

Sure enough, the houses are empty, and it doesn’t take long for Dean to spot Cas bent over a work station by the windows. He contemplates knocking, or maybe taking louder footsteps, but ultimately he decides to just say “Hey, Cas,” which turns out to be the worst idea of them all. 

Cas spins around so quickly that he bumps a pot off the edge of the counter, and a crash reverberates around the greenhouse when the dried clay collides with the floor right by his feet. He jumps to the side, wide-eyed and wary, watches Dean uses his wand to mend the damage and tend to the mess. He extends both hands to catch the planter Dean soon levitates in its restored form, and only then does he let out his breath, though it sounds heavy and tired and sad. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs nonetheless. “What can I do for you, Dean?” 

“Oh, well, I...” Dean lowers his wand and ducks his head. “I’m here to ask if... If, uh-” 

“Peonies.” 

“... What?” 

“Peonies would be a good choice. I have quite a few colors blooming this week, though the pink ones are- They’re the loveliest, in my opinion. The flower symbolizes romance, and prosperity, but I suppose the latter is a bit... weighty for a relationship in its early stages.” 

Dean has absolutely no idea what is going on. “Cas, I don’t-” 

“Or the hydrangeas,” Cas continues to speak as he walks past the nettles and lilies and asphodels. He pauses at a box that’s more like a cloud of bright emerald green, brushes the petals with his fingertips and smiles so faintly that Dean almost misses it. “These are my favorite; they remind me of your-” he drops his hand. “I, um, I do have orange and blue as well if...” 

“I think-” Dean interrupts desperately. “Cas, I’m not really following you here.” 

Cas finally looks at him, though it’s brief and guarded, breaks his fucking heart. The most devastating part is that he doesn’t know why their dynamic has changed, because if doesn’t know, then he can’t fix it, and if he can’t _fix it_ , then- 

“I didn’t mean to overhear,” Cas says, eyes hard and focused away from Dean. His hands, however, stay busy as they grab an empty pot to fill partway with soil, and he pushes the whole thing into Dean’s arms a moment later, telling him, “Please take a bouquet of whatever you prefer. I should- There are plants in the other greenhouse that require my attention.” 

He leaves in a flash, before Dean can protest, and when the door swings shut all that remains is a tense, smothering silence. Dean sees Cas’ silhouette beyond the frosted glass and his grip tightens on the ceramic resting in his hands. It’s beautiful, painted blue, majestic winged horses etched along the bottom. Dean debates putting it back, as he’s unsure why Cas gave it to him to begin with, but then he glimpses the patch of blue hydrangeas out of one corner, flowers that match the shade of Cas’ eyes. 

He returns to his office with a small bunch, places the pot on his desk and peers down at it for god knows how long. They provide no answers to the many questions swarming inside his head, but he does realize that his least favorite color ever is that of Castiel’s melancholy baby blues.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

That evening, an owl departs the West Tower with a letter for Professor Balthazar Novak at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. The note isn’t lengthy at all, just barely taking up three inches of parchment, and the elegant handwriting upon it reads: 

 _Balthazar,_

_I’m afraid he already has a significant other. Thank you for your advice regardless._

_Love,  
_ _Cas_


	2. Chapter 2

Cas no longer speaks to Dean at breakfast.

Dean approaches him on Tuesday to return the scarf, cleaned and folded, which he takes with a quiet “Thank you” and nothing else. It may be melodramatic to say that Dean’s mornings have been ruined forever, but he does become restless and irritable, more than what his students and colleagues should have to put up with.

Sam, who hears about the pity party from Charlie, implores him to find out what’s wrong. ‘You owe it to yourself to fix this,’ he writes. Dean isn’t sure what that means - he doesn’t know a lot of things, especially as of late - and every morning that he spends on furtively watching Cas is another morning of Charlie sighing at him who’s, obviously, sighing at Cas.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Charlie _Alohomora_ s her way into Dean’s room on Friday afternoon.

“You still alive?”

Dean grunts at her and reaches for his ninth (or is it tenth) chocolate frog, tossing the collectible card aside, shoving the dark confection into his mouth. Charlie stares at him with a little bit of horror, but it’s just whatever - god, he’s bloody _wallowing_ , alright? Nearly a third of his sweets stash is gone and it’s all in the hopes that a sugar crash might numb his pain.

“Dean,” Charlie begins gently, “I’m here to ask you something.”

“What,” he grunts again as he grabs a treacle fudge out of its box. Charlie swats his hand away, levels his scowl with something equally stern, and eventually Dean gives up and sinks back against his pillow, both hands bereft of candy as he grumbles, “Okay, fine. What.”

“I need you to chaperone the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow. It’s supposed to be my shift but Gilda was wondering if I could meet her in London for lunch.”

“Thought you saw her last Sunday,” Dean frowns.

“Well, that’s the thing about dating, Dean,” she sighs. “You kind of want to see the person as often as you can, because you miss them.”

“I wouldn’t know. I got dumped before the relationship part, so.”

“Dean, _stop it_. You’ve got to-” Charlie pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look, you can either confront Castiel or move on, but you can’t keep relying on, on _Honeydukes_ to save you.”

“Bollocks,” Dean snaps, cradling a bag of jelly slugs. “Mr. and Mrs. Flume have all but kept me alive with their shop, Charlie. Christ, mind your manners.”

“Good god, are you even hearing yourself?” Charlie is standing now, her face as red as her hair. “No, you know what, Winchester, you’re _going_ to Hogsmeade tomorrow. I’ll tell Becky that you’re filling in for me.”

She’s out the door before Dean can protest, after which he stares and stares for a long, dumb moment. Then he just shrugs and reaches for the toffees by his side, curses when he finds nothing there save for his bedding. He vaguely recalls the crinkle of paper as Charlie stood up, the cream color peeking out below her sleeves-

Oh, for _Merlin’s sake_. Remind him to send that girl a Howler.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

At this point in the year, hoping for mild weather is wishful thinking, but it’s still difficult to be cheerful when his nose is threatening to freeze off his face. Hogsmeade is crowded anyhow, filled with students who are happy to just get away for a few hours. Dean trails a group of them past the nearest storefront to escape the chill.

It’s Honeydukes, as it turns out, packed and brimming with kids. Plenty of students run up to say hello, while some just run _into_ him in their haste to grab every pixie puff. By the time Becky corners him to launch a truly frightening interrogation about Sam, Dean’s just about had it with people, the weather, this whole Saturday.

So of course he backs away, comes close to knocking over a display of licorice wands.

And, of course - _of course_ \- he ends up right in Castiel’s space.

Cas pauses partway through scooping chocoballs into a cellophane bag, and the silence that falls between them is somehow louder and more prominent than the sugar-high ruckus of the shop. Dean fidgets awkwardly with his own box of crystallized pineapple, and shakes his head when Cas offers him the ladle to the candy barrel.

“I, um, thought you didn’t like chocolate?”

Cas follows Dean’s gaze to the treats nestled in his hand, frowning at them as though he’s only now realized what he is buying. “I don’t… I’m getting these for my brother, Gabriel.”

“Oh,” Dean nods, then clears his throat. “Right, you, uh, prefer the no-melt ice cream.”

Cas stares back and flushes a little, and generally looks adorable. “Yes, when did I…?” He bites on his lip and just like that he’s closed off again; that is, until he adds, “Shouldn’t you be at Madam Puddifoot’s?”

It’s Dean turn to frown. “That pink, froufy place? Why?”

“I thought-” Cas sighs like it physically pains him to say whatever he’s about to say. “I thought that was the… customary place for coffee dates.”

“Well, sure, it is, but,” Dean runs a free hand through his hair. “I don’t have a coffee date to go to.”

“… You don’t?”

“Yeah, no one’s being stood up today as far as I know.” Dean says this light-heartedly, hoping desperately for the mood to lift. That expectation tanks the very second that Cas furrows his brows.

“That really isn’t funny, Dean.” He’s looking down at his hands, shoulders drooped like the ears on a puppy that’s been kicked, and Dean can’t stand it anymore so he reaches out, fingers grasping at air and nothing before they land on Cas’ arm.

“Hey,” he tries as calmly as his mind will allow, “what’s going on here, Cas?”

Cas stills but doesn’t pull away, blinks those huge, cartoon eyes until Dean’s heart is hammering in his chest. When he does open his mouth a moment later, the words spill out hurriedly like the question had been some sort of key. “You, you took the flowers. The blue hydrangeas. You said-”

“What, Cas? What did I say?”

That question was clearly misspoken, because Cas clams up and his eyes get even bigger like he’s about to cry. But he can’t cry, he simply can’t - Dean could never forgive himself - and in an instant Dean is grabbing his hand, pulling him past the shelves and out of Honeydukes.

Dean stands in front of Cas, face to face, blocking most of the wind with his body. His shoulders hunch at the cold punching through his lungs, but they need the privacy, and the quiet, both of them shivering or not.

“Cas,” he starts. “Please, I… I don’t- Help me understand what you mean.”

He practically drowns in blue when Cas looks up.

“I heard you. Last week, you were… You were asking out that girl. Jessica.”

The sentence is choppy because Cas is shaking, and Dean’s own eyes widen at ‘asking out that girl’ and Jess’ name. He remembers that day, outside the Three Broomsticks; his joke about the flowers, Jess’ about the greenhouses- Oh. It all makes sense and Dean really wishes he could hex himself.

“God, Cas, it’s- That’s- That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Cas frowns, so Dean keeps talking.

“Jess is… She’s my brother’s girlfriend.”

Now Cas just looks horrified.

“No!” Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. “Oh, shit, no, that’s not- Okay, what I meant was. She’s dating Sam and I’m in love with you so she let me practice _our_ coffee date speech - _whatever_ \- with her. Said I might avoid making a fool of myself that way, which…” he sighs, “which happened anyway.”

Cas’ expression flicks through about twenty different shades of surprise, and when his mouth starts to gape Dean tries hard not to focus on the _pink_ and _full_ and _chapped_. He blinks and ducks his head instead, only to register the lack of a scarf on Castiel’s neck. He’s unwinding his Gryffindor scarf before he knows it, then retying the red and gold snugly around a still-speechless Cas.

“Why didn’t you wear a scarf,” Dean mumbles, though it’s not a question for Cas so much as a self-reprimand for not noticing five minutes ago.

“You love me,” Cas replies. His face is colored from wind, disbelief, or both.

“Yes,” Dean says, taking in Cas’ dazed and open stare. He looks so damn hopeful that Dean just wants to gather him in his arms and never let him go. But for now, he takes a step closer until their faces are almost touching, knows that Cas can feel it when he breathes out, “Of course I do, Cas. How could I not?”

Dean sees the tentative upturn of Cas’ mouth, peers at that impossibly beautiful face to his heart’s content and senses a kind of lightness he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“So,” he murmurs eventually, after some of the longest and most deliriously happy minutes of his life. “Now that it’s clear that I’m head over heels for you, would you like to accompany me to Madam Puddifoot’s?”

Cas laughs, shy and bright and winsome, and then a warm, gloved hand is sliding into Dean’s, holding it tight.

“I’m actually more of a Butterbeer wizard myself, if that’s alright.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

**Two Months Later**

Cas gets an inkling that he’s late as soon as he wakes up. There’s a looseness in his limbs from not being jerked awake by an alarm, and meanwhile his sleep-addled brain starts to worry hazily about what time it is.

Of course, this all takes a backseat when he finds Dean, propped up on one elbow, smiling at him.

“Hey,” Dean says, and Cas buries his head under a pillow. He hears Dean laugh and feels the warm press of lips on his shoulder. He smiles into the mattress and, when he re-emerges, Dean says “Hey” again and gives him a sweet, chaste kiss.

“Good morning,” he finally replies. “Are we late?”

“Probably.” Dean moves in closer to trail kisses down the side of his neck, and Cas sighs happily then closes his eyes, his protest of “We should get dressed” sounding considerably half-hearted.

They do make it to breakfast, at least, twenty minutes late and stumbling in through the back door. They’re not loud enough to draw the attention of hungry students, though they receive curious, quirked eyebrows from a few of their colleagues.

“Isn’t that Cas’ tie?” Charlie whispers, nodding at the blue between Dean’s rumpled shirt collars.

Cas overhears and flushes red, whereas Dean rubs the back of his neck and admits, “Yeah, uh… It’s-”

“Winchester, please,” Charlie laughs. “You can definitely spare me the details.”

Cas smiles at that as he scoops an egg onto Dean’s plate, and Dean mirrors it back as he fills Cas’ goblet with juice. And somewhere off to their left, Shurley complains about being single and stabs woefully at his crisp strips of bacon.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game is the year’s most exciting yet, with close calls and tied scores that get the crowds riled up and hollering throughout the match. By the second hour, the two Seekers are flying low, only a couple of feet above the ground, and the game ends after both of them dive off their brooms, the stands falling silent until the Hufflepuff Seeker raises the Snitch.

The teams clear out of the locker rooms in record time, all jumpy from adrenaline with the added bonus that it’s a Hogsmeade weekend. So when Cas walks in to look for Dean a half-hour later, he’s greeted only by the sounds of running water echoing off the grey, stoned walls.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greets, poking his head out from behind the shower curtain. Cas goes to kiss him and Dean’s gaze is heated when they move apart. “Care to join me?” There are wet fingers already curled in the front of his shirt, and Cas tracks them to Dean’s toned chest and tanned skin.

“My eyes are up here, professor,” Dean winks, and pulls Cas into the shower before he can respond.

Cas’ clothes soak through in seconds, water droplets chasing each other down his cheeks, his neck, his pretty collarbone. Dean swallows hard and licks his lips, his breaths coming labored from the anticipation alone.

Cas pushes Dean back against the tiles away from the spray, pressing his fingers into Dean’s waist to hold him still. He kisses Dean’s mouth all shy, which never fails to drive Dean mad, and then he’s sinking to his knees in a slow, graceful glide, still demure and biting his lip, staring up at Dean from under his lashes.

“Oh, fuck.”

Dean’s jaw slackens at the heat of Cas’ mouth, and he’d tip his head back if he didn’t want to watch so bad, to catch every detail. So he tangles his fingers through the wet strands of Cas’ hair, and doesn’t look away from Cas’ mouth stretched wide and filthy around his swollen cock. He thrusts shallowly when Cas grips his hips to tug him close, and shudders at Cas’ moans vibrating on his skin. Cas’ eyes flutter shut on every down stroke, and when it’s too much he pulls back, sucks lightly on the head then goes for more.

“Shit, _Cas_.”

It’s excruciatingly good and Dean’s hips begin to stutter, his fingers buried in Cas’ hair and tightening whenever Cas rubs his tongue across the slit. He’s totally gone in no time, rutting uncontrollably into Cas’ encouraging mouth. It’s with his last remaining control, then, that he makes Cas pull off before it can end too soon. Cas doesn’t move far, though, catching a spurt of precome on his lips and chin. The white on spit-slick red is devastatingly hot, and Dean’s hands flex, ache to touch, as he helps Cas back onto his feet.

He changes their position, pinning Cas to the wall in his place, kisses him hungrily and tastes himself in his mouth. He sucks on Cas’ lower lip until Cas arches into him, whispering a breathless “Please” that makes Dean instantly fumble for the body wash. He slicks up his fingers and drops the bottle to the floor, relishing Cas’ gasps at the first press of those digits inside of him. He kisses along Cas’ jawline, nuzzles at his neck and murmurs praise against a shoulder blade, and Cas’ noises become increasingly helpless, even more so when Dean brushes his prostrate again then again.

Dean turns him gently and Cas flattens his hands on the tiles, spreading his legs to let Dean in, moaning when it happens, steady and slow. Dean worries that he might lose his mind, lose himself in Cas, the sounds, the unbearably tight heat. When he starts to move, the shower mutes their grunts, their curses, the slapping of skin on skin. Their bodies ease into a rhythm and that’s where Dean relinquishes control, gripping Cas’ hips and pounding into him, making Cas cry out and beg, “ _Oh_ , Dean, right there. Please.”

“Is that-” Dean gasps between thrusts. “Is it good, babe?”

Cas nods frantically, trying to push back to meet him, and the whimpers from his throat are broken, so beautiful, hooking right into Dean’s spine like a potent drug.

“Need a hand, angel?” he asks, his voice thick with arousal. For Cas, the endearments fall easily, readily, and Dean kisses each one reverently into Cas’ nape.

“No, I-” Cas sounds wrecked. “I just need you, Dean. Just-”

Dean groans and thrusts harder, faster, sure to hit that sweet spot every time. Cas’ fingers dig into his hip and it’s impossible to tell who comes first, but Dean’s orgasm hits him like a freight train and Cas sobs his name, coming untouched. It’s amazing, and it lasts forever, until they’re too sensitive and Dean has to slide out.

“Did I mention,” Cas pants raggedly, “that the match was fantastic?”

Dean grins wolfishly as he spins Cas around to kiss him properly, deep and dirty, and slurs along the curve of Cas’ lips, “Yeah, it was. Congratulations to me.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The evenings are still fairly cold in early spring, and Dean double checks - triple checks - that Cas is bundled up before they climb onto his Nimbus. They don’t go far, just a leisurely lap around the grounds, but Cas’ back is warm against his chest and Dean slows the flying every now and then to kiss his cheek.

“I have a surprise for you,” Dean says toward the end of the night. They’re hovering by the Astronomy Tower, with a perfect view of the Lake underneath the moonlight.

“What is it?” Cas asks, only tilting his head since he can’t turn around.

Dean brings both of his arms around where Cas can see, gives his wand a flick and whispers, “ _Orchideous_.”

The tip of his wand shines brightly for a moment, and then the flowers bloom in mid-air, a floating bouquet of emerald green hydrangeas. They’re sparkling and vibrant, tinged with magic conjured out of Dean’s affections, and Cas gasps audibly at them, hugging the flowers to his chest.

“Dean.”

“You said they’re your favorite,” Dean smiles. “What do they mean?” He props his chin on Cas’ shoulder and watches how carefully the other man touches the petals and leaves.

“There’s some debate… but the one I like best is ‘heartfelt emotion and sincerity.’”

Dean shifts his arms to wrap them around Cas’ waist, feels the softness of Cas’ sweater beneath his fingertips as he says, “I’m sincerely in love with you.”

“… Yeah?” Cas breathes quietly.

“Have been for a long time, was just too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it.”

“Well,” Cas leans back, covering one of Dean’s hands with his own, “you’re _my_ chickenshit.”

“Wow, sweetheart,” Dean teases. “That’s really romantic.”

He laughs when Cas huffs indignantly at that, murmurs “I love you” until Cas blushes a pleasing shade of pink. His heart flutters dumbly because Cas looks more glowing than embarrassed as he ducks his head.

“I love you too,” Cas replies when Dean is steering them back to the castle, and he clasps Dean’s hand in his like he’s holding the entire world.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Extra:**  

“Barrett saw them kissing in the greenhouses last week.” Janis Aldwinckle, a sixth year Ravenclaw, announces this in the courtyard with a gravity befitting a new wizarding decree.

“And so did Fogg yesterday!” her friend Sarah laughs. “Do they honestly think they’re being stealthy?”

“I think they’re so gone for each other that they don’t care,” Ann Hardwicke chimes in, and a wistful look crosses her face as she coos, “I mean, where is _my_ handsome professor, hmm? They’re both so gorgeous; I’d die happy if my boyfriend were half as easy on the eyes.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Janis huffs, casting a side eye over at a group of guys heaving and snort-laughing beneath a giant oak tree. They’re just such _boys_ , all messy and disheveled and not even in a nice way. Not like Professor Novak’s ‘save a broom, ride a Quidditch coach’ sex hair and Professor Winchester’s consistently haphazard tie, like, who are they kidding, _really_?

“I ship them so hard,” Emma Coyle sighs, and the three other girls stop in their tracks, turning to face her with identical confusion.

“Ship?” Ann prompts.

“Yeah, it’s a Muggle thing,” Emma shrugs. “You know, wordplay. The ship sails itself?”

“… Sails where?” Sarah asks, exchanging a baffled look with Ann, but Emma just smiles as she guides them to a bench, citing the need for a quick lesson in semantics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do leave me kudos, comments, and love. Feel free to also come find me on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tk/post/102910120353/puppycastiel-dean-cas-au-dean-flying)! :)


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